


Match

by orphan_account



Series: Rush Summer [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen, Rush Valley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She was more talkative than usual today. At least, she seemed that way.” A squelching sound. Winry is cleaning her workplace off with a wet rag, most of the deadly equipment not quite put away so much as temporarily displaced into less menacing corners of the room. “I know, I know, the letters, but how’ve you guys really been?”</p><p>A drumming of fingers on a combination of metal and wood. Ling. “She’s been at the court for two years: I know how strong she is, but that doesn’t mean she can stand the particularly suffocating brand of idiocy of Xingese nobles.” The taps slow. Suggest he has come to lean upon the counter. “I mean, I can barely stand it. And as the Emperor, they can’t spew that shit directly in my face.”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Or, in which Ling Yao complains about being in a position of power over the largest country in the world, Winry Rockbell has no time for court garbage, and Lan Fan understands even less than she did a few scant hours ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Match

**Author's Note:**

> This makes more sense if you've read the first part in the series. Just an in-between dialogue to link two larger parts of the fic. A bit of background, if you will.
> 
> Minor language, as usual.
> 
> Unbeta'd and unedited. Enjoy.

“She was more talkative than usual today. At least, she seemed that way.” A squelching sound. Winry is cleaning her workplace off with a wet rag, most of the deadly equipment not quite put away so much as temporarily displaced into less menacing corners of the room. “I know, I know, the letters, but how’ve you guys _really_ been?”

A drumming of fingers on a combination of metal and wood. Ling. “She’s been at the court for two years: I know how strong she is, but that doesn’t mean she can stand the particularly suffocating brand of idiocy of Xingese nobles.” The taps slow. Suggest he has come to lean upon the counter. “I mean, _I_ can barely stand it. And as the Emperor, they can’t spew that shit directly in my face.”

“Hm.” Water sloshes. A pattering of feet. Winry shifts ever closer to the side edge of the table. “It’s a good thing I’m not over there, then, ‘cause I know for a fact that I wouldn’t give them the time of day before socking them with a wrench.”

He claps her on what sound like the shoulder. “I’m surprised Lan Fan _hasn’t_ tried that. Well, sands wrench.”

“Sans.”

“Heheh. That.” The drumming returns, less a sound than a lulling hum. A constant to cradle and remember in the stillness of solitude dawns. “I think it’s the heat. The heat, Amestris, knowing that she can approach you as equals.” Ling sighs. He clicks his teeth together, once. “Xing isn’t used to the idea of a female guard. Xing _especially_ isn’t used to the idea of a female head-of-the-guard. Despite said head proving herself over and over again.They think, and claim, the jump in assassin attacks is her fault.” One can hear the wry half-smile in his voice. “Of course, I’m relatively certain that _they_ are the ones sending the assassins in the first place.”

Winry pauses in cleaning to clang scrap metal in her palm. Crossing the room, she kneels, deposits the filings into a drawer, and somehow doesn’t notice the slight movement at the back of the table. Then back to cleaning. A silent sigh of relief. “Well, don’t go dying on me. At least not ‘til you’ve managed to bed Ed at least once.”

He snickers. “Only if I top. I’m the taller one, eh?”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure Ed’ll love to hear that.” A loud _squelch_. Water dripping from the edge to pool in miniature lakes on the floor. “But thank you for bringing her over. I swear I’ll help her if it’s the last thing I do, okay? I’m worried about her, too. Especially since she never answers my letters.” She kicks the table: The vibration shudders through it, and she crouches to check for damage. “She’s like Ed redux. Same stubborn clever emotionally constipated sweethearts.” The mechanic traces another pattern of wetness into the counter. Digs into it with a _srrchn_ ing strain of fabric. “And I don’t want to see the light in her eyes go out. I’ll help.”

His mirth fades. He clears his throat; the ripple of muscle along his throat must look beautiful. “Thank you,” he says quietly, seriously, his voice a campside fire on a frigid winter midnight. “If you ever need anything in return . . .”

“Please. She’s my friend too, y’know. You’re supposed to be greedy, not arrogant, right?” Winry squishes the rag audibly. Rain on the work table.“Well, this is clean as it’s going to get. C’mon. I bet she’s waiting for you.”

The noise of his fingers ceases, and the absence settles heavy and deep in the grooved scar it leaves. “I suppose so. Knowing her . . .” He chuckles. The sound could bring peace to a civil war. “Knowing _her_ , though, she’s probably off doing some reconnaissance work around the place.” The mechanic laughs. “Just in case. I feel pretty sorry for any would-be burglars.”

Footsteps. A closed door. The voices fade. Their _chi_ ascends, presumably to the second floor resplendent with two bedrooms.

A droplet of cool water pings onto Lan Fan’s nose. She sniffs and wipes the moisture off on her flesh hand. At length she stands from behind the work table, stretching her aching legs. Her frown quirks down the corners of her mouth.

“Master Ling,” she murmurs. With her palm flat against the counter she somehow keeps balance. “What are you planning?”


End file.
